The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery (7 page)

Ramses said weakly, "In the British Museum?"

"There, I felt certain you knew already. Yes, it was Mr. Budge himself who bought them. He doesn't often buy from British dealers, you know, gets most of what he wants directly from the Egyptians, but I always let him know when I acquire something unusual, and when I told him the provenance of the ushebtis, he assured me he just could not resist."

Ramses stared at the dealer. He knew he must appear particularly feeble-witted. "Provenance," he repeated.

"Yes, from the collection of your friend's grandfather. The old man was your foreman, was he not? As Mr. Budge said, who would have better sources than the longtime reis of the distinguished Professor Emerson? Mr. Budge was so pleased, he was chuckling quite merrily when he left. He... Why, Miss Forth, what is wrong? Are you feeling faint? Here—a chair—"

Ramses wrapped his arm tightly round Nefret's rigid shoulders. "Fresh air," he said. "She gets these spells. That's all she needs, a breath of fresh air."

He snatched up the parcel Esdaile had made of the necklace, shoved it in his pocket, got a firmer, two-handed grip on his speechless "sister," and led her out. He had to drag her round the next corner and into the recessed entry of a building before he dared loosen his grasp.

"Did you think I was going to faint?" she demanded, eyes flashing.

"You? I thought you were going to fly at Esdaile shouting denials. The fat would have been in the fire then."

"I wouldn't have done anything so stupid. But to accuse a man who was the soul of honor—who is dead and can't defend himself against such a contemptible accusation—"

"Don't be so theatrical." He took her by the shoulders. She flinched, and he let go. "What is it?"

"I'll have bruises," Nefret said with grim satisfaction. "Did you have to be so rough?"

"Oh, God, Nefret, I'm sorry!"

"Maybe you did have to." With one of her bewitching, bewildering changes of mood, she moved closer, taking hold of his lapels and smiling up into his remorseful face. "You were a bit angry yourself. Admit it."

"Perhaps I was. But most people wouldn't think any the worse of Abdullah for collecting antiquities. Everyone does it—everyone except Father, that is. The Cairo Museum buys from dealers, most of whose stock is derived from illegal excavation, Budge buys from the tomb robbers themselves—"

    "No wonder Budge was so pleased." Nefret ground her teeth.

"Yes. Father has criticized him privately and publicly for doing precisely what Budge assumes Abdullah must have done. Good Lord, half the tomb robbers in Luxor are relations of Abdullah's, and the other half were old acquaintances. And if Ab
dullah had done it behind his back, Father would be hurt and furious."

She bowed her head and did not reply. She's taking it badly, he thought, and reached for her hand. "Let's go home, dear. We've found out what we wanted to know."

"Mmmm." After a moment she looked up, slipped her arm through his, and said calmly, "We missed lunch. Let's stop somewhere for tea before we start back."

"All right."

"It's a good thing Aunt Amelia wasn't with us," Nefret said, as they walked to the motorcar. "You know how she feels about Abdullah. She will
explode
when she hears this!"

"I'm afraid you're right. She was devoted to the dear old fellow."

"She dreams about him, you know."

"I didn't know." He opened the door for her.

"Perhaps I shouldn't have told you. She hates being thought sentimental."

"I won't say anything. It's rather touching, really. Have you ever wondered..." He went round to the driver's side and got in. "Have you ever wondered what he whispered to her in those last moments before he died?"

Nefret burst into one of her delightful gurgling laughs. "Why, Ramses, I didn't know men were curious about such things! Of course I've wondered. She's never said, and I don't believe she ever will. We all miss him, but there was something very special between them."

"Yes. Well, where do you want to go for tea?"

Her choice of the Savoy surprised him—she usually preferred a less pretentious ambience—but he didn't become suspicious when she excused herself as soon as the waiter had seated them. She was back sooner than he had expected and even his uncritical masculine eye told him she had not been painting her face or smoothing her windblown hair.

"What are you up to now?" he inquired, helping her into her chair and resuming his own.

Nefret stripped off her gloves. "I happened to remember they were to be in town this week. You haven't met them."

"Who?"

"There they are." She stood up and waved.

There were two of them, male and female; young, well-
dressed, obviously American. Both were strangers to him, but when Nefret introduced them he recognized the names. Jack Reynolds had been at Giza with Reisner the year before. He bore a certain amusing resemblance to his mentor, and an even stronger one to the former American President, Theodore Roosevelt, for he had the same stocky frame and bushy mustache and rather prominent teeth. Only the eyeglasses were missing, but he might come to that yet; he was still in his twenties.

The girl was his sister, dark-haired, pink-cheeked, pleasantly plump and breezily informal. She gave Ramses her hand and shook her head, dimpling, when he addressed her as Miss Reynolds.

"Say, now, we're already on first-name terms with Nefret, and she's talked about you so much I feel as if we're well acquainted. My name's Maude. Can I call you Ramses? I think it's just the cutest name."

"Shut up and sit down, Maude," her brother said, with an amiable grin. "You'll have to excuse her, folks, she's been badly brought up. But I sure hope you'll skip the formalities with us, Ramses. It's a real honor to meet you at last. I've read all your articles and your book on Egyptian grammar, and Mr. Reisner thinks you're just the smartest young fellow in the business."

"Oh, really?" A trifle overwhelmed by all this cordiality, Ramses realized his response had sounded stiff and pompous. Smiling, he went on, "The most complimentary thing he ever said to
me
was that if I kept at it another ten years I might be half as good an excavator as my father."

Maude stared at him, lips parted. Her brother burst out laughing. "That was a compliment, all right. I sure hope we'll see a lot of you folks this season. Where are you going to be working?"

"The Professor never tells us until the last minute," Nefret said, pouting prettily. "But say, now, Maudie, what have you been doing in London? I hope Jack hasn't made you spend all your time at that dusty old British Museum."

It was an outrageous parody of poor Maude's speech and mannerisms, but it passed unnoticed by the victim, who responded with matching vivacity. The girls discussed shops and gossiped about mutual friends while Jack talked archaeology and Ramses tried to listen to all three of them, wondering what the devil Nefret thought she was doing—aside from eating most of
the sandwiches and ridiculing her friend. Finally she pushed her plate away and demanded a cigarette.

"We didn't mean to ignore you ladies," Jack said, with another of his hearty laughs. "I guess you get tired of all this Egyptology talk."

Nefret looked as if she were about to say something rude. Ramses hurriedly fished in his pocket and drew out his cigarette case and a parcel wrapped in tissue paper. He offered the case to Nefret and struck a match. In his haste he dropped the little parcel onto the table. The contents spilled out in a glowing tangle of purple and gold.

Maude sucked in her breath. "Say, that's pretty. Is it real?"

Nefret blew out a cloud of smoke, smiled at Maude, and said sweetly, "Genuine, do you mean? Ramses just now bought it for me, wasn't that cute of him? At Esdaile's. Do you know the place? This necklace is authentic, but be on your guard if you shop there; we—er—acquired something recently that was a very well-made fake."

"Why'd you buy it then?" Jack asked.

"We have our reasons," Nefret said mysteriously.

Ramses decided it was time to change the subject.

Darkness had fallen before they left the Savoy. One of the attendants brought the car round and lighted the lamps. Nefret slid into the driver's seat while Ramses was handing out tips.

"Well?" she demanded, inserting the vehicle into the stream of evening traffic along the Strand.

Ramses opened his eyes. She had never actually hit anything, but watching her perform the maneuver was a nerve-racking experience.

"Well what? Nefret, that omnibus—"

"He sees me."

"Now what are you doing?"

"Putting on my driving helmet. My hair's blowing all around."

"I noticed that. Why don't you change places with me? Assuming that regalia of yours takes both hands, and so does steering."

She made a face at him, but did as he asked, coming to a dead stop in the middle of the roadway. She drove like an Egyptian— and David, who was Egyptian, drove like a cautious little old lady. So much for stereotypes, Ramses thought, hurrying round
the car as frustrated drivers of various vehicles hooted and yelled at them.

"What did you think of the Reynoldses?" she asked, tucking her hair under her cap.

"Surely you don't suspect
him
of being our forger?"

"I suspect everyone. Let me sum up what we know about the wretch so far." She turned toward him and began counting on her fingers. "First, he's a trained Egyptologist; you said yourself no amateur could concoct that text. Two, he's a relative newcomer to the field—"

"Possible but not certain. Esdaile bought the objects this past April, but we don't know that others weren't sold earlier."

"It's a reasonable assumption," Nefret said firmly. "Three, he's young—no wrinkled old man could pass for David. Four, he speaks English like a native, to quote Mr. Esdaile—"

"That eliminates Jack," Ramses said.

She let out a melodious whoop of laughter. "Now who's a bigot?"

"I didn't mean it that way," Ramses protested. "I only meant the American accent is—er—distinctive."

"Not if it's heavily overlaid with a fake Egyptian accent," Nefret said triumphantly. "Five, he knows a lot about us—David's name and general appearance, and his relationship with the family, the same for Abdullah. That confirms the assumption that he is an Egyptologist, and very probably one with whom we are acquainted."

"He could have got that information from the newspapers. Mother and Father have been prominently featured, especially by their friend O'Connell."

"Curse it, Ramses, we have to start somewhere! If you are going to disagree with every damned point I make—"

"All right, all right. You may well be correct on all those points. I can't take Reynolds seriously, though. For one thing, there's the little matter of motive. The Reynoldses must have private means. Archaeologists living on their salaries don't stop at the Savoy."

"We don't know the motive," Nefret argued. "It could be something strange and perverse. Don't laugh! People do have irrational motives."

"Indubitably."

"What did you think of Maude?"

"I thought you were extremely rude to her."

"I was, wasn't I?" Nefret chuckled. "If you want to know,
she
was rather rude to David last year. She didn't
exactly
treat him like a servant, but she came close. We haven't a lot in common, Maudie and I; Jack was the one who kept thrusting us at one another. He has the devil of a time believing women are interested in anything except clothes and flirting."

"You do hold grudges, don't you?"

"Where my friends are concerned, yes. Did you notice how she jumped when I mentioned Esdaile's?"

"She did not jump. That was me. I thought we'd agreed not to mention the forgeries."

"In connection with David. I didn't mention
him.
Anyhow, if the Reynoldses are innocent, as you believe, what I said won't mean a cursed thing to them."